


Reflections

by ImhereImQuire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, Crossdressing, Drunk Cersei is Best Cersei, F/M, Post - A Storm of Swords, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImhereImQuire/pseuds/ImhereImQuire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cersei misses Jaime, and a drunken impulse has her dressing in his armour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflections

Cersei slipped the doublet over her head. A knight would have brought it around himself and been laced by a page, but she was, by necessity, alone and had gotten good at making do, nimble fingers working behind her to draw the laces tight and tighter until it was difficult to breathe. One would have thought that she would have been used to such constriction, having worn bodices most her life, but while stays were designed to lift and to swell, the heavy quilted velvet she had donned did the reverse, pushing downward and inward, crushing her breasts until she appeared almost but not quite flat. That was alright though. Jaime was not perfectly flat either, he had muscled nicely in his manhood; his body a sweet study of hard planes rather than simple lines. It would do, she decided, finally growing impatient and knotting the laces.

The sword she buckled to her hip was not Jaime’s, but Jaime had never looked entirely at ease without steel close by, and any blade was better than none.

The white cloak was the next thing, brought about her shoulders and fixed with a lion’s claw pin, reassuringly heavy upon her shoulders.

At last the ritual of dressing was complete and she sought the sight of herself in the mirror, squaring her shoulders and widening her stance, finally letting down her hair from its elegant braid until her golden curls flowed free and untamed over her shoulders. After a moment of fluffing from its careful styling it was as wild a mane as her sweet brother’s, and she gave a wistful smile, regarding her reflection critically. The likeness was not exact; she was not so tall, nor so broad of shoulder, and though her hips were almost identical in width to her twins when they lay together they were wider they looked wider on her small frame. Differences or no the illusion was enough to steal her breath, and even through the haze of tears which she had promised herself she would not cry there was no sight more beautiful to her eyes than the one which greeted her; a shining study of white and gold, her but not her; the stronger, bolder, braver man she was in her sweetest dreams.

It was as though her twin stood before her, dangerous and devoted, come to comfort her in her hour of need. “Jaime” she breathed, a light coo, her voice full of longing… but that wasn’t right, she thought to herself, angered by the foolishness of her error.

Why in hells would Jaime say his own name? If this was Jaime then there would be only one name upon his lips and it would not be his own. Swallowing thickly she exhaled deeply expelling the grief from her lungs, though not the longing nor the need. That should stay, for Jaime’s desperation to be with his twin should mirror hers for his passion had always been the equal of her own.

“Cersei..”. She knew that she could not fully match the timbre of his voice at court, or on the field; it was too deep, too harsh for her throat… but she could imitate the softer, breathier tone he kept for her and her alone. His pillow voice, unheard by any save her and the midwives who had helped birth their babies was the tone she missed the most.

“Cersei” she repeated, her eyes trained upon the looking glass as she brought her hand to her cheek; stroking the skin with only two fingers, tracing temple, jawline, throat. Other men had touched her, but not like that, and never with such knowing precision, nor such skill… the time that she had guided Lancel into attempting it but his hand had felt so unsteady and awkwardly clumsy she couldn’t tolerate it and had soon put an end to it.

“My twin, my other half…” was that his tone or hers? She didn’t know, but it didn’t matter; it was their words; twin words, the magical, mythical love that they shared warming the chill she’d lived with too long. “I miss you” her tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now, and rather than trying to halt them she cupped her cheek in her palm, and stroked them away with her thumb. He did that sometimes, when he held her from behind and couldn’t reach to kiss them from her cheeks. The other arm she wrapped tight around her belly, fingers dug into the nipped point of her waist less than tenderly. He had never been afraid of loving her fiercely, for she was his lioness and not some porcelain poppet, even at her weakest.

“I miss you too, Jaime” she whispered, telling him the words that distance would not allow her, words which still filled her head in the middle of the night. “I miss you. I love you. Come back to me…” her voice cracked, and her chest was racked with the weight of sobs. “Come back to me” “Sweet sister… haven’t you learnt by now? I always will. Soon. I promise, soon” she told herself in her twin’s voice, and she found herself nodding. She didn’t know if he would or could return to her of course, but she was desperate to believe, and for a long time she simply held crossed her arms across her chest and sought comfort in her own arms, imagined as his.

There was a sudden creak and her head snapped around. It was the sound of the door opening and, heart pounded at the discovery. Hadn’t she bolted the door behind her? She was usually more careful, but she had not come to her room in the best of states, for this was an act reserved for times of utter desperation. When she turned around her laugh was bitter and weary. Who else would it have been but Jaime, or as much of him as had returned from Harrenhal.

“Your grace..” he said simply, using the tone that he took with her at court, and not the one he was supposed to use with her, his gaze was so utterly impassive that she wanted to scream. _Not here_ , she wanted to demand. _I was never ‘your grace’ in here when it was just you and I!_

“The king has had a nightmare, and wishes to be admitted to your room” his eyes ran the length of her body, beholding her in the lamp light, and for a long time it looked as though he might say something of significance, but in the end he simply shook his head. “Shall I give you a few minutes to undress, your grace?” he asked and he sounded no different than any other member of the Kings Guard might have in the circumstances; dutifully non-judgemental and silently contemptuous.

“I wanted to remember you whole, that was all” she snapped, unable to bear the tense silence… there was a distance which should not be, and could never have been before he went away. The pain in his eyes was perversely gratifying. I have that power over him still, she thought to herself smugly. I can make my words matter to him still.

“I love you too, sweet sister” Jaime replied bitterly. “I’ll tell your son that you slept too sound to be stirred, and let you alone to your memories.” he swallowed thickly. “I hope they keep you warmer than I, your grace” And then, with a low, mocking bow he was gone, and she was more alone than ever.

Too much, it was too much to bear, and with a wordless scream she tore the mirror from the wall, bringing her foot down hard upon the back of the frame. _I don’t need you,_ she insisted in her own head as she brought her foot down again and again. _I don’t need you. I don’t need you. You are not the man you were, and you are no part of me, any more than the rotting flesh of your severed hand._ But it was no good, having him so close and yet so far from her was worse than having him lost to her entirely.


End file.
